The Fugitives
by karasumana
Summary: Two mages flee their friends following a misunderstanding regarding the Technocracy. But to whom can they turn?


**The Fugitives**

_Gunshots. _

_Jesus, not already—_

I'm on my feet before my eyes struggle open, blearily trying to identify the threat even as my hands fumble for the gun I know isn't there. Eric turns away from the television, startled. His mouth hangs slightly open in surprise; he's as confused as I am. 

I look past him, to the TV. It's that old Harrison Ford movie, the one where they think he killed his wife, and he's running from the cops. I stare at it for a moment; it takes Eric that long to figure it out. I'm already dropping back down to the bed, rolling over, by the time he turns the volume down. The late afternoon sunlight will bother me for a little while, but I'm too exhausted to care. 

_And I let _him_ carry my gun._

*          *             *

It's dark out, now. The window shades have been drawn, but the faint glow of lights from the highway sneak through their guard. I didn't know whether we wanted a room next to the road, for an easier escape, or farther away, to put more distance between us and them, maybe to give us a little more time to pack up and go. In the end, it didn't matter, because I was still deliberating when they handed Eric the key. And that idiot used his real first name when he signed in, too. Oh well. Maybe it will mislead them; they probably won't be expecting us to be that stupid, so they might see the name and rule it out as a possibility. 

We probably should have checked in as only one person, and snuck the other one in. If they're looking for both of us together, that would have helped. I guess there's still a chance that they don't know I'm involved. 

The red digits on the clock say it's already a little past eight. So we've been missing for a little over twelve hours. 

_I think they know._

I'm not sure where Eric is; the television is off, and the bathroom is dark. That dark lump in the shadowed chair is probably the magnum. He should have taken it with him if he went out; it's not like I'm totally defenseless without it. I should have found another gun, one for each of us. What would they do when they caught me, tack on theft to the other charges? I should have put more thought into this. 

_You should have put more thought into a lot of things._

The spray of light from under the door is briefly shadowed, and I hear a dull clicking sound as someone fumbles with the key. Belatedly, I dive for the gun, but the door is open, with Eric standing there holding a few cartons of what smells like Chinese takeout, by the time I get the safety off. 

_You need to move faster._

*          *             *

The tribunal was ridiculous. Everyone knows that Sleeper justice is terrible; innocents languish in jail while the guilty sign bills into laws. I don't know why I thought we'd do a better job. Maybe it's because I knew he was innocent. I should have said something, but I thought it was obvious. I mean, Eric didn't do it. He's not guilty of espionage, betrayal, murder, conspiring with enemies of Ascension, whatever else they tacked on at the last minute to make it sound more impressive. It was a bunch of bullshit. How could they fail to see that? 

He's sleeping now. You'd never know he was on the lam, not from looking at him. I must have tossed and turned for most of the afternoon, but he hasn't even twitched. I guess it's true what they say, that the innocent sleep more easily. Something like that. 

Not that anyone is ever going to believe it. No, the time for explanations would have been at the tribunal. 

_You should have thought of that sooner. Too late now._

It's not going to be pleasant when they get here. They're all convinced that Eric is guilty as hell, and it's not like the lone Orphan in a Hermetic chantry is going to have any special friends. 

_You could have helped him, if you'd tried._

They might come. Might not. I've always gotten the impression that they'd rather not get their hands dirty, but hunting down the poor schmuck that betrayed us all to the Technocracy, well, that might sound like fun to them. I'm not a favorite, either, because I never bowed down and worshipped at their altar of pretentiousness. Yeah, I bet Ferne comes, at least. There's nothing she'd like to see more than me and Eric smeared on the wall of some anonymous hotel room. 

Edmund will be there, there's no doubt about that. We Euthanatoi stick together. 

_At least he means well. You know you'd do the same if you didn't know what you do._

The truth wouldn't make a difference to him, not in my case, anyway. And even if he believed us, Eric would fry. Ferne wouldn't ask for Edmund's permission before showing off with her 'arts essential' bullshit, and she'd probably think it was worth the 'dox. Another orphan down—burn, baby, burn. 

_This shouldn't be happening. How did you let it turn into this?_

And that tribunal. I just can't get over it. No one wanted to represent him; I should have offered to, but I guess I was just too chicken shit. They would have appointed someone if he'd insisted, but not Eric. You could tell he was innocent just by looking at him, at that dumb expression of self-assurance, the wide-eyed shock at being accused of those crimes. That could all be faked, I guess, but not by someone as transparent as him. 

They didn't have any evidence. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time—they should have been able to see that! No one ever saw fit to give him the descriptions of the Technocrats who killed Maurice. They were toying with him, feeling him out, not talking to him. Eric didn't know who they were. Paolo's stupid time sight couldn't show that. They never even tried to establish that he was responsible for the ambush that killed Heather and Aziza; their whole case just assumed that if he'd spoken to the Technocracy before the attack, he must have been behind it, and Eric never thought to call them on that point until it was too late. I guess he's finally starting to believe that those guys were Technocrats, at least. 

_But it doesn't matter. He's not the reason they found the safehouse._

*          *             *

It's my turn to sleep again, but I'm not sleepy. I don't really feel tired. More like restless, I guess. 

We've been here for over a day. We need to get moving again. Eric thinks he's been blocking their scrying, but I don't trust it. They could be sneaking up to the window right now, seconds away from— 

I sit up, startling Eric. He's been watching the television on mute since it scared me yesterday, and he says he feels safer, being able to hear everything. He's coming over, asking me if I heard something, as I push aside the shades to reassure myself that none of the cars in the parking lot hold a cabal of angry mages waiting to annihilate us. 

The bright midday light blinds us both temporarily. We've taken to living in shadows, and the colors of the outside world seem faded and washed out for a few minutes. It's only been a few days. I guess the gulf seems wider when you can't go back. 

The shades fall back into place, and now we're lost in the darkness as our eyes readjust. He was saying earlier how he didn't see why we needed to leave, how we're lucky to have found a place to hole up in for now, so why throw it away? 

The whole room reeks of that Chinese stuff he brought back last night. That's reason enough to go, as far as I'm concerned. 

*          *             *

At least we didn't have much to pack. We've been driving for almost five hours now. Eric's sleeping again, of course. He'd sleep through the apocalypse. 

He was asleep when I came to let him out of his cell. He'd been crying before that; it was as obvious that he'd sobbed himself to sleep as it was that he didn't want me to notice, but I didn't really have time to comment, anyway. 

He didn't know what was going on. If someone ever rescues me from wrongful imprisonment mere hours before my scheduled execution, I hope _I_ don't babble like an idiot. Sneaking him out of there was a little easier with everyone asleep, and then it was just go, go, go. 

I don't think he shut up once for the first hour of the drive. He went on and on about how much he owed me, how grateful he was, how sorry he was to have put me through this, how he'd be willing to say he'd escaped on his own and kidnapped me as a hostage if they caught us, as if they'd believe that. And then he went back to sleep. 

_What do you think he'd say if he knew?_

*          *         *

Another hotel room. This time, we have a room on the second floor, right next to a fire escape that leads into the rear parking lot. I scouted out the grounds first and asked for this room specifically, just in case we need to move fast. I'm checked in as Sabrina Ducan, like the one on Charlie's Angels. I bet no one gets it. 

You know, this just doesn't make sense. If we're working for the Technocracy, why haven't we run off and joined them yet? When is that going to occur to anyone? When they finally catch up to us and we're still holed up in some cheap motel room in the middle of nowhere, what is that going to mean to them? Will they think that we just decided to take a break from creating a static reality and betraying our chantry to get a room together and hump like rabbits? 

It's almost tempting. Join the Technocracy, let them grind into dust every last spark of creativity we possess, and be protected from our "friends." 

_You shouldn't be thinking things like that._

The doors to this place are thick metal, I guess because they open up to the outside instead of to a hallway. Nothing a disciple of entropy magic couldn't handle, of course, but it's better than nothing. 

There's a muffled knock on the door, more of a dull thudding, really. Barely audible. It must be Eric; he's gone into stealth mode. He found a pair of old sunglasses in the glove compartment of my Honda earlier this morning, and he hasn't put them down since. We need to ditch the car. He might feel bad about stealing from Sleepers, but we really can't keep driving around in the same vehicle, and it's not worth the trouble of trading it in and buying a new one. For one thing, that would take way more time than we probably have, and, for another, they've probably already gotten Zan to keep his screens peeled for anything involving my vehicle or credit card. No paper trails for me, thanks; I've seen enough Bond movies to avoid making such an elementary mistake. 

_You should probably let him in now._

*          *            *

I should be asleep. Eric thinks I am; I haven't moved in more than half an hour, and my eyes are closed. Pretending to sleep is the only way to shut him up. 

_Why does he annoy you so much?_

This should be a movie or something, though I guess we'd be in bed together right now if it were. He just busted out with tearful words of gratitude for his rescue, going on and on about how much it means to him, and how much he owes me. How he's sorry to have ruined my life like this. Jesus, he already thanked me in the car. Enough is enough! 

_But that isn't what's bothering you._

I don't know how I'm going to break the news. Maybe I'll just keep quiet, leave him blissfully ignorant. He's almost excited by this whole thing; I can tell. Wrongfully accused, rescued by a beautiful woman, fleeing from false justice—sounds like the plot of a trashy romance novel. Eric's not even a bad name for the Fabio clone on the cover, but I'd need to change mine to Lady Cordelia Throckmorton or something. 

The whole story changes when you inform the hero that his leading lady is the one responsible for this whole mess. 

_Nobody's perfect._

Neither one of us is ever going to be able to go home. 

*          *             *

It's getting hard to keep track of what day it is. We left around three in the morning yesterday, drove for a while, and finally crashed around noon. I wanted to flip for who got to sleep first, but Eric insisted that he wasn't tired. He's trying so hard to be the hero. It's too bad I'm not interested in him; we've already got danger, so the romance would be icing on the cake. 

On second thought, maybe that's how I'll tell him. I'll run down to Walmart, grab some candles and mood music, pick up a pizza and a liter of Coke, and seduce him over dinner. Then, as we lay in each other's arms afterward, I'll sigh dreamily, look into his eyes, and say, "Eric, there's something I just _have_ to tell you. The real reason the Technocracy found the safehouse is because I let it slip. I could have brought this up at the trial, but I was more worried about covering my own ass than straightening this out. You thought I was such a sweetheart for helping you escape before the execution, but you wouldn't even have been in that cell if it wasn't for me." 

_Then, you can make passionate love again while he plots to murder you in your sleep._

*          *         *

I didn't realize that it wasn't Lenny on the phone. There's always so much static with those stupid cell phones, and I guess I thought he was just getting a cold or something. Zan gave us a million lectures on checking the connection before we talked about anything that could compromise us, but that's so tedious and impractical to do every time you make a phone call. I didn't know they'd hacked in. It's not like I'm the computer geek. 

I really did think it was Leonard. I probably should have realized that something was up when he asked for directions to the safe house, but he's such a space cadet sometimes, and I was in a hurry, so instead of hassling him, I just told him. We were supposed to go there later tonight, to meet some newly Awakened kid, but we hadn't set a time yet. 

_It's a good thing you weren't headed for the chantry._

By the time I heard the news around lunch time, the place had already been reduced to rubble. I remember thinking that we were lucky that it was only Heather and 'Ziza there. I remember thinking that I was lucky, that it wasn't me. 

_It should have been you._

We were all pretty shocked. I made some comment to Lenny that it must have happened right after we got off the phone with each other. 

He didn't know what I was talking about. 

Fortunately, like I said, he's a little bit of a flake. I don't think he'll ever put it together. 

They managed to use time sight to see what had happened, and to trace the Technocrats who had done it back about half an hour—just enough time to leave my phone call out of the picture. 

I don't really know why they just talked to Eric instead of trying to take him down, too. Maybe they didn't realize that he was Awakened. Maybe he just didn't seem worth their time. Paolo couldn't hear the conversation, so I guess the only way to find out would be to ask Eric. 

_But he's even more clueless than you are._

*          *             *

The clock reads a little after midnight, and it's one of those rare times when we're both awake and not going anywhere. Eric's been quiet tonight. He's still trying to act cheerful, mostly for my sake, I guess, but I can tell the weight of these affairs is starting to crush him. 

_Would he feel better, or worse, if he knew it was your fault?_

It's been almost two weeks, according to my watch, which is a few hours fast. Maybe our next destination should be Mexico, like in "Thelma and Louise." We could drive off of the cliff together and float gently to the ground. I think Eric could pull that off. 

You know, the truth is, it doesn't matter where we go. It's all the same to them. No scrying ward will last forever. They'll punch through eventually, and they'll come knocking at our door. The Hermetics take betrayal seriously. 

_So should you._

*          *             *

The phone is ringing. We're both staring at it, as if it were a snake, a king cobra, even. It's probably just the front desk. Or a wrong number. We'll see if they call back. 

Eric's been losing weight. He used to be a little pudgy, almost jolly looking, but he's starting to look like a ghost of himself. He doesn't watch the television anymore, and I think he left the sunglasses at the last motel. Maybe I'll buy him a new pair when I pick up dinner, to cheer him up a little. 

It's been five minutes. The phone has been silent. 

_You should have just unplugged it, pulled the cord right out of the wall, as soon as it started. Better yet, you should have disconnected it as soon as you set foot in the room._

We definitely need to get going tomorrow. I'll let Eric pick where this time. Maybe we'll just drive until we get tired, and stop at the first motel we see. 

He's just laying there, gazing at the ceiling. I wasn't sure he was awake. I guess there are worse people I could be stuck with like this. We've been getting along well so far, more because he tries than because I do. He's a lot smarter than I give him credit for, too. He remembered to grab the license plate before we ditched the Honda, to make it a little harder to trace. It's not much, but it's better than nothing. 

I'll ask him what he wants for dinner. Maybe we'll feel safe enough to actually go out one of these nights. I can scrape together enough cash to treat him to a real dinner. He's probably just as tired of pizza and Chinese as I am. 

"No preference," he says with a smile. Still trying that damn hard, huh? Well, I don't really care either, but I'm not nearly as cheerful about it. I'll hop in the shower and we can decide after that, when we're both a little hungrier. 

The bathroom in this place is small and not really clean; it looks like someone hastily wiped down the sink and toilet with a wet rag, maybe dumped some Clorox in the shower. It smells like bleach, anyway. 

Looking in the mirror, I can tell that I'm losing weight, too. I used to be kinda pretty, but my eyes have dark circles under them, and motel soap isn't great on my hair. Even if I'd remembered to pack shampoo before leaving, I'd be out by now, and we don't have the money to spare for junk like that. I didn't remember a razor, either, so Eric and I have been sharing a pack of disposable Bics. 

I didn't really plan this very well, did I? What did I think we were going to do with barely a grand in cash, a couple sets of clothes each, and nowhere to run? 

_Plenty of places to run, but nowhere to hide, as the saying goes._

I don't know what we're doing. When I started this, I thought I was saving his life, because, you know, it was my responsibility or something. Because I could have helped him at the tribunal, and I didn't. But who am I kidding? I didn't save his life; I just prolonged it at the cost of my own. 

_You're both screwed, and you know it._

The dial in the shower sticks a little—probably a little rusty. I test the water with my wrist; it's freezing, at first. 

Then I hear it. 

The crash of shattering glass is the first sound, and then Eric yelling for me to run. He's got the gun out there, I know, but I don't know whether the shots being fired are by or at him. It doesn't sound like there are more than two or three other people with him. I don't hear Edmund, but I wouldn't anyway; he's usually quieter about doing his duty. That's Ferne, though, telling someone to break down the bathroom door because I must be inside. 

_You knew she'd be along._

It might be worth opening the door, surrendering, returning with them for another trial and an official punishment, but I don't know if they'd take me alive. We usually kill Technocrats on sight, don't we? 

I don't hear Eric out there anymore. I close my eyes, extend my perceptions. The door is slowly beginning to dissolve into disorder, to crumble within reality. It has the flavor of Edmund's magic behind it. 

It isn't worth fighting. I could make it easier for him. He didn't even try the doorknob first. I don't think I bothered to lock it before. 

_It's okay, really, because you know you'd do the same for him._

I reach over and turn the shower off; the water was just getting warm.


End file.
